lotlhmoq
by Delwin
Summary: "How's B'Elanna?" "She misses you." - the other side of those thirty days. Torres, Janeway, Paris...and birds that can't swim.
1. Prelude

Author's Note: A companion piece to "Reparation" and, not quite a bookend, but somewhere down the shelf from "Raw". Though, as always, it can stand on its own as well.

Thank you to **TB** for slogging through an early read of this and to **Photogirl1890** who is simply awesome.

I don't own them and never will. That is a privilege reserved for Paramount/CBS and possibly Starfleet captains, depending on one's point of view...

* * *

_**lotlhmoq  
**lotlhmoq_ (n), a bird that swoops into the water in order to catch food, but cannot swim  
_-[HolQeD v10n4p4]_

**_Prelude_  
**She had to admit that the program was growing on her, at least when it wasn't actually running.

That first night, she had come almost without thinking, unsure what she was looking for. Answers, comfort, escape? All or none of the above? She had thought at first to vent some frustration in one of her old Cardassian combat simulations. But, then, she knew all too well that her holodeck activity was still being quietly monitored, and the last thing she wanted was another heart to heart with Chakotay. She had flipped over to Tom's files out of habit and found the program still paused where he had left it.

Where _they_ had left it. After her only prior visit to Captain Proton's monochromatic universe.

_"__Well, for what it's worth, I'm proud of you."  
"__Thanks, but Captain Proton's not going to be able to save the day this time, is he?"  
"__What about Tom Paris?"_

She had returned a couple of times since then. Sleep was elusive, her quarters stifling. Any of the ship's public areas were out of the question, and even engineering lacked its usual ability to soothe her raw nerves. In contrast, somewhere between the bubbling of what appeared to be a water-based coolant system and the background whirl of the rocket ship's main computer, she was able to find, if not peace, a level of calm. A calm that she had sorely needed again after that afternoon's senior staff briefing...

Ordinarily, she had no problem with Ensign Culhane. She found him to be both competent and professional. Ordinarily. But ordinarily he was not sitting in on senior staff briefings as the acting chief conn officer.

Her humor had already been black as she sat down at the far end of the briefing room table, arms crossed and eyes fixed ahead. Chakotay glanced her way, opened his mouth and then closed it again with a small half-shake of his head. Harry steered clear of the seat next to her. (It was eventually filled by an oddly quiet but otherwise unperturbed Neelix.) When Culhane entered, her head snapped up, and her eyes fastened on the unlucky ensign. He nervously took a seat to the Captain's right where the engineer could conveniently continue to glower at him. When Janeway began the meeting with detailed and effusive praise of Culhane's efforts at the helm earlier that day, B'Elanna's mood darkened yet further.

Culhane, on the other hand, seemed to almost glow with pleasure at his commanding officer's compliments to his flying skills.

"...so I want to thank you for stepping up to the challenge today, Ensign. Do you have any thoughts or suggestions you'd like to add in case of future encounters with the Ariens?"

Utterly at ease now, the ensign grinned broadly and leaned forward with his arms resting on the briefing table. "Well, I did have a couple of thoughts on helm efficiency..."

At his words, B'Elanna bristled back to attention; even Seven, seated next to Culhane, raised an arched eyebrow as the ensign listed out several suggestions for 'improvements'.

"...and, also, the lag time on the maneuvering thrusters seems a bit slow, particularly when switching from the port to the starboard thrusters.."

"That's because you were flinging the ship back and forth like a wounded targ," B'Elanna finally snapped. "There's no way that the helm can compensate when it's being flown by someone with the subtlety of a first year cadet."

The room went silent.

"Lieutenant Torres is correct," Seven's voice, cool and undisturbed, broke in after a beat. "The fault was with Ensign Culhane's overly aggressive piloting, not with the efficiency of _Voyager's _helm control."

B'Elanna's eyes shifted over to the former Borg, and she offered the smallest nod of acknowledgment.

"Tuvok, did we gather any more information about the Ariens' tactical capabilities?" Chakotay broke in, wisely redirecting the conversation, but not before throwing a warning glance in the engineer's direction. Folding her arms to her chest and slumping back in her chair, B'Elanna retreated into her own disgruntlement until the briefing finally ended and the staff began to file out of the room.

"Lieutenant. A word, if you would?"

That in itself was odd. Usually, Janeway sent Chakotay to deal with his erstwhile Maquis shipmate when her temper flared. B'Elanna stopped short on her way to the briefing room door, turning sharply.

"Yes, Captain?"

"I'd like to know what just happened here."

Deep breath.

"I lost my temper, Captain." Her voice sounded reasonably even to her ears. "It's been a long day, but I know that isn't an excuse. I'll apologize to Ensign Culhane."

The Captain nodded but seemed unsatisfied. "If this is about Mr. Paris..."

_Ensign Paris_, B'Elanna barely held back the snide correction. "This is not about Tom."

It wasn't. And it was.

Another long look with those piercing blue-grey eyes. B'Elanna weathered it without comment. She was getting practiced at that. Not finding whatever it was she was searching for, the Captain switched tactics, softening her look and nodding. "Make things right with Ensign Culhane." Relieved, the engineer turned to go before being halted by the added, "And, B'Elanna? No more outbursts during senior staff briefings, hmm? No matter who might or might not be in attendance."

She gritted her teeth. "Yes, Captain," and made her escape.

...She drew her knees to her chest and leaned back against the rocket ship's control console. The smallest of smiles ghosted across her lips when she felt its surface vibrate as the computer whirled. She wondered if, while the ship was in flight, Tom – or Captain Proton – could tell its speed by the vibrations of the metal floor. She knew that she really didn't even need to wonder.

Gods, she missed him.

It wasn't about Tom. Except it was, in part. Because it always had been.


	2. I

**I.  
**It should have been difficult to despise someone for making the same compromises that one had made oneself. Or maybe that just made it easier.

The real question was why she cared at all.

"Hey, Torres -" She cringed as he closed the length of corridor between them. She had known who was behind her, though she hadn't bothered to turn. She gave him the barest look of acknowledgment. "Harry says you are coming along on our little scouting mission."

"That's right," she responded shortly.

That stopped him for about a second before he tried again: "Well I just thought..."

She halted then, readjusting the duffel bag slung on her shoulder. She closed her eyes briefly and then turned to face him. "Look, Paris. I don't like you. You don't like me. For all Janeway's rhetoric about being one big happy crew, I can assure you that I have no intention of reevaluating those feelings. So let's cut the team-building crap and just get the job done."

He stood impassively through her tirade, his features arranged with their usual arrogance, head tilted just so in order to show off those pips that had recently and conveniently found their way onto his collar. "If that's how you want it -"

"It is."

"Well, I do always try to give a lady what she wants." And, with that, he strode on ahead of her towards the shuttle bay.

She glowered at the pilot's back, biting back a torrent of descriptive epithets in both standard and Klingon. Then she sighed, shaking her head to clear it. It was going to be a long two days.

* * *

"All I'm saying, Harry, is that, if this girl is everything that you say she is, she will more than understand your current situation."

She almost didn't recognize the voice emerging from the hatch of the shuttlecraft as she approached the _Drake,_ even for, or perhaps because of, hearing it only minutes before. The pilot was chatting animatedly with the ops officer as they prepared the shuttle for flight, and she paused for a moment outside the hatch, fascinated despite herself by the change in that voice's tone and timbre.

"Tom, we've been through this before, and I haven't changed my mind," Harry's voice came, slightly exasperated. Been through it when? When in their short stint together had the two men become such fast friends? B'Elanna, never quick to form such relationships herself, felt a stab of what she suspected might be jealousy.

_Get hold of yourself, Torres._ Growling internally, she squared her shoulders and entered the small craft.

"B'Elanna!" Turning at her entrance, Harry smiled warmly in greeting. "Glad to have you along! You can stow your stuff under the benches back there."

"Yeah, I remember," B'Elanna muttered. She had spent more time – far too much time as far as she was concerned – in Class 2 shuttles while at the Academy, but she still knew the basic layout of the Class 6 and 8 crafts.

Only after throwing her duffel into the storage space did she notice Kim's questioning reaction to her less than friendly response. She sighed again. She could probably count on one hand the number of people who would notice whatever level of foul mood she chose to be in. Perhaps it was worth the effort not to alienate one of the few who, for whatever reason, seemed to both notice and care. "Sorry, Harry," she said genuinely and offered a small grin. Then, pointedly, eying the back of the pilot's chair, "It's been one of those mornings."

Paris snorted. B'Elanna just rolled her eyes. She saw Harry slowly shake his head, and she heard, in a mutter that was likely intended only for himself, "It's going to be a long couple of days..."

* * *

Flung into unknown space with no allies, no recourse to starbases for supplies or overhauls, and limited knowledge of what lay ahead of them, the inhabitants of _Voyager _found themselves suddenly and unexpectedly focused on those very basic needs that almost all of them had never but taken for granted. Having put what she deemed suitable distance between _Voyager _and what had been the Caretaker's array, Captain Janeway had made it her first order of business to assess the ship's stores and energy resources. With the help of their resident expert on the quadrant, the Talaxian Neelix, she had mapped out a number of nearby systems that might provide the raw materials, fuel sources and foodstuffs that the starship would so desperately need and had put together teams to forage through those systems using _Voyager_'s small complement of shuttlecrafts.

Well, actually, that had been the Starfleet captain's second order of business, B'Elanna reflected bitterly, feeling again the constriction of the uniform collar around her throat.

_"__So what would you have had me say, B'Elanna?"  
"__How about telling her 'no'?"  
"__And then what? We all spend the next seventy years under house arrest in our quarters?"  
"__Better than spending the next seventy years in Starfleet uniforms."  
_"_You think so? While the ship struggles to get home manned by only the skeleton crew that they would have left without our help? Like it or not, we're all in this together now."  
"__Save the recruitment speech, 'Commander'."  
"__They were never the enemy, B'Elanna."  
"__Maybe not yours."_

And so here she was, dressed in that particular shade of gold that she had sworn never to wear and sitting in the co-pilot seat of a Starfleet shuttlecraft next to the man whose own command red uniform had immediately marked him as a traitor in her eyes just days before – and whose subsequent reinstatement as a lieutenant had only reaffirmed that quick assessment. She tried to decide whom she held in greater contempt: Paris or herself.

A loud bang accompanied by what, from anyone else, would clearly have been a muttered curse came from the third member of their party, who had configured the auxiliary console behind the pilot's seat into a temporary operations station. Torres and Paris both turned amused expressions on the younger man.

"Ditching the professionalism already, Harry?" Paris teased.

Kim scowled in response, clearly not appreciating the pilot's diversion at his expense. "These sensors are next to useless for the system we are flying into. The levels of radon gases and thoron particles are so high that another ship would have to be right on top of us before we ever detected it."

Paris nodded sagely. "Protoplanetary disks have that effect. Rather like flying through pea soup. On the bright side, nobody can see you until you are right on top of them either. And," the pilot continued, turning back to his console and checking a few indicators, "it's chock-full of deuterium, which is on the Captain's wish list." Finishing a couple minor adjustments, he turned back to Harry. "What I don't understand is why? Aren't Starfleet ships designed to take in the deuterium they need through the Bussard collectors on the fly?"

"Ordinarily, yes." B'Elanna broke in. "But those collectors only function in that way at sublight speeds. Under usual circumstances, a Starfleet vessel spends enough time at impulse or in orbit to easily compensate for the stretches at warp." She shrugged. "I assume Janeway is planning on a little less sight-seeing and a bit more high warp. At the higher warp frequencies, the engine will look like a Cardassian vole at the rate that it will be eating through fuel."

Harry turned back to his console. "Well, since we're supposed to find those pockets of deuterium in that 'pea soup' while hopefully not running into any company, or any proto-planets by the way, I would really like to find a way to boost these shuttle sensors."

"Why don't you get B'Elanna to take a look at them?" Tom's attention appeared to be back on the helm and the suggestion came as off-hand and casual.

Too casual. And for a moment, every member of the away team was acutely aware that it needn't have been either casual or a suggestion. _Lieutenant _Paris was the ranking officer on this mission. Those two pips on his collar meant that he outranked Harry. And B'Elanna...well her place in the official Starfleet hierarchy was tenuous to say the least.

_What the hell am I doing here?_

Somewhat ironically, she was there because she was one of the very few of his former crew that Chakotay trusted not to go after Paris. It had been Janeway who had insisted that a token Maquis be included in each away team – more good Starfleet team building. The other Maquis had snickered openly when Chakotay had told the engineer her assignment. B'Elanna had only given her former captain a quick but telling glare before striding out of the cargo bay and back to her assigned quarters to pack.

The glare with which she now favored the stubbornly oblivious pilot was just as telling and not at all as brief.

Clearing his throat with more than a bit of nervousness, Harry began, "Uh, B'Elanna? I know these aren't systems you are used to, but I could use another set of eyes."

"Sure, Starfleet," B'Elanna answered, rising from her seat, her eyes still on Paris. "I'll take a look."

Kim prudently gave the half-Klingon some space as she came up to his station, but her temper quickly cooled as her fingers began to work over the console. Then, she crouched down to remove the lower panel. "If we bypass the regulator and tie the sensors directly into the EPS relay, we should be able to increase their power at least four-fold and give you that look through the 'pea soup' that you want."

Harry frowned. "I'm not sure that we could do that and keep the EPS feedback within the guidelines."

B'Elanna shrugged. "It will be safe enough as long as we include a pulse inhibitor. And I suspect that, out here, we are more likely to run into a small planetoid without the sensor upgrade than we are a Starfleet inspection team. But it's your call."

Technically, it wasn't. And she felt her irritation rise as Harry glanced forward at the pilot. "Tom?"

Paris gave a shrug of his own. "I'd trust B'Elanna to know what she's doing."

Which did nothing to alleviate her annoyance. She renewed her glare at the back of the pilot's head as she heard Harry's sigh. "Fine then. Let's do it."

* * *

Even with the amplifications to their sensors, once they entered the region they were sent to explore they were, to say the least, near-sighted. As they skirted the edge of the emerging solar system at less than a tenth of full impulse, it became clear why both Paris and Kim had been selected for this particular assignment. Harry processed and cleared up the garbled readings coming through the sensors as the pilot deftly worked the helm to circle through the system's thick gasses and around the masses of still unpieced together planets. B'Elanna, meanwhile, felt more than a little useless.

Twitchy and restless but unwilling to fidget and draw a comment from Paris – who, no doubt, would both notice and spare a moment for a jab no matter how engaged in piloting he was – B'Elanna stared out the viewscreen in front of her, attempting to make heads or tails of the swirling gases. Her mind began categorizing the elements and interpreting their interactions in the patterns before her. So intent was she upon those patterns, that her subconscious immediately registered when something didn't fit.

"Harry..." she began, alert now and leaning forward over her console. "What is that?" and she pointed toward the anomaly just starboard of the shuttle's heading.

Paris's eyes snapped up from the helm, following the direction she had indicated. He squinted and his jaw tightened. "Looks like we have company." Frowning, he entered a few quick commands into the helm. "I'm bringing us to a full stop."

"Where?" Kim searched his readings, looking for some confirmation of what his crew mates were seeing. "I'm getting nothing."

"About twenty degrees to starboard and, I'd guess, about four hundred thousand kilometers out." Paris looked to B'Elanna for confirmation of that, and she nodded grimly. "Their ion trail must be reacting with one of the gases, lighting them up."

"There's another one," B'Elanna said quietly. "About ten degrees further starboard."

Paris nodded. "And I've got a third ahead to the port side."

Temporarily abandoning his less than useful sensors, Harry moved to stand between their chairs, joining in staring out at the swirling colors before them. "Can we find out who they are?"

B'Elanna was already working at her console. "Our sensors are still pretty useless, but I should be able to get the computer to bypass them and magnify using just plain old light refraction." One last command and a still fuzzy but all too recognizable ship configuration appeared on her console's screen. "They're Kazon."

"Small quadrant," Paris quipped.

Harry looked from the magnified image back up to the viewscreen. "Can they see us?"

B'Elanna shrugged a shoulder. "I'd be surprised if their sensors work any better in this mess than ours do, but as soon as someone looks out the window, they're bound to notice one more ion trail than they're expecting."

"So what do we do?"

For a moment, Harry's question hung in the air.

"Well, we could..."

"Here's what we..."

They cut off in the same instant, eyes locked.

B'Elanna looked down first, biting her lower lip. "It's your call, _Lieutenant._" Bitterness only partially masked as scorn played in her tone as she felt again her own lack of any sort of standing on this mission, in this crew. _I shouldn't be here._

"B'Elanna." Paris's voice was urgent but soft and, despite herself, she looked back up at him. "If we are going to live through this, we need your expertise." The usual arrogance had dropped out of his expression, and she recalled that, uniform or no, he had also come aboard _Voyager_ with questionable at best standing. "What can you give us?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, pulling her thoughts together. _If we are going to live_... This was hardly the time for games of injured pride. "The shuttle's hull is primarily composed of duranium. With the density of thoron particles in this system, we should be able to create a duranium shadow."

"A what?" Harry asked, clearly lost.

"A duranium shadow. It was a trick we used in the Maquis, though I heard rumors of less dogmatic Starfleet engineers using it when needed as well. It gives off false weapons signatures; basically, it will make it look like we are armed to the teeth."

"But only once they are close enough to even get a sensor reading off of us," Harry pointed out.

B'Elanna nodded.

"Do we even want them to get that close?"

"I'm not sure we are going to have a choice," the pilot interjected, drawing their attention back to the viewscreen where the ion trails had shifted direction, now clearly heading toward the shuttle. His fingers were once again working over the helm controls. "Harry, can you find me the nearest patch of deuterium?"

The ensign nodded, already moving back to his station. "There was one we were just coming up on. Why?"

Paris ignored the question for the moment, asking instead, "B'Elanna, would it be possible not just to make it look like we have those weapons systems, but that they're about to overload?"

She nodded, beginning to understand the plan he had in mind. "Yes. But it will take a couple of minutes."

He paused to gauge the distance of the ships bearing down on them. "I'm guessing we'd be lucky if you have one."

"Right," and she dove into the necessary reconfigurations.

"Harry?" she heard Paris call. "Do you have that deuterium cloud for me?"

"Sending you the coordinates now," came the reply from the ops officer.

"B'Elanna?" and again that soft urgency.

"Initiating now," she confirmed. "Their sensors should tell them that we are about a minute away from a weapons overload and core breech."

The pilot nodded, and then there was silence as they waited to see if the Kazon would fall for their ruse. "There!" Harry shouted. "They're turning around!" And, indeed, the three ships' trails were arcing sharply as the vessels headed away from the _Drake_ with all possible speed.

"Let me know as soon as they are out of sensor range, Harry." There was obvious relief in the pilot's voice that at least the first part of their strategy had gone as planned. "Then we'll make a jump for the deuterium cloud. B'Elanna, can you..."

"I've got an anti-deuterium stream from the warp engines ready to go," she interrupted and then looked up to see his surprised grin. "I assume you're planning to ride the wave of the explosion out of the system?"

"So that there will be no ion trail left for anyone who might not fully buy our little fake core breech and come looking for us," he confirmed. Then that grin reached his eyes with electrifying effect, and he quirked an eyebrow at her. "Think it will work?"

She felt her face flush and looked back down at her console. "I think you're insane," she growled. But, then, glancing back up and the corners of her own mouth twitching, she added, "But, yeah, I think it will work."

"The Kazon ships are out of sensor range," Kim broke in.

As Paris headed at full thrusters toward the deuterium cloud, B'Elanna called back to Harry, "You might want to reroute that extra power we sent to the sensors to the aft shielding to give us some added protection from that wave."

Harry frowned. "Won't we need the sensors to get out of the system?"

B'Elanna turned for a moment to look at the ops officer. "Harry, at the speeds we'll be going with that shock wave at our tail, those sensors won't do us any good."

Harry paled, and she knew he was contemplating, as she had minutes before, the level of piloting skill that would be necessary to get them out of the system in one piece. "Right," he finally replied tonelessly. "Working on those shields."

"We'll be in the deuterium cloud in ten seconds," Paris called.

"Anti-deuterium stream ready on your mark," B'Elanna confirmed as Kim added, "Shields as good as they're going to be."

"In five, four, three, two, one – mark!"

Once the anti-deuterium was released, the resulting explosion was almost instantaneous. Paris gunned the impulse engines to give them what head start he could, but the wave was upon them in seconds. The impact flung both Harry and B'Elanna from their seats, but the pilot, somehow, miraculously, held himself steady at the helm.

Pulling herself back up into her chair and looking out the viewscreen, B'Elanna felt her insides turn over. The multi-colored clouds of elements were now churning past them at dizzying speeds. She ducked instinctively as a chunk of rock double the shuttle's size passed just above the hull.

Swallowing hard, she turned her attention to the relatively steady readings in front of her. "We'll be clear of the system in thirty seconds," Harry called.

Paris nodded in acknowledgment, eyes fixed ahead, even as his hands flew across the helm controls. "No damage to our warp engine, I hope?"

"No damage," she confirmed, fingers again playing across her own board. "But, I need to recalibrate the intermix ratio to compensate for that anti-deuterium we vented."

"Clear in ten seconds."

"B'Elanna?"

"Go, now!"

For a three count they sat, regaining their bearings as star trails replaced swirling gases. And then, with a cry more of frustration than anger, B'Elanna brought her open palms down on the console in front of her. The pilot, knowing what was coming, tried to forestall it: "B'Elanna, don't..."

"Don't what, Paris?" she snarled back. "Don't point out that we were sent out here with no idea of what to expect? That Janeway and her so-called guide nearly got us killed with their non-information? That by all rights we should be dead right now?"

"But we're not dead and they couldn't have known..."

"Exactly. They couldn't have and didn't know. Who the hell sends a barely defensible shuttle into a system they know nothing about?"

"Someone who is pretty desperate. And that's what we are right now, Torres, if you hadn't noticed: desperate."

"And why is that again?"

At that, he eyed her shrewdly. "You really think she should have left an entire civilization of innocent people to the mercy of the Kazon in order to get us home, B'Elanna? What happened to all of that noble 'fighting to protect the innocents' Maquis spirit?"

She glared and then spat out, "Well at least I didn't trade it in for a couple of pips."

"When did this become about me?"

"And here I thought that everything was always about you, Paris."


	3. II

**II.  
**He was hiding.

The only reason she knew was that she was hiding as well, escaping the celebratory atmosphere of the reception that the Rakosans had thrown together. Every smile, every polite word rubbed salt into the wound of the whole Dreadnought affair. She had tried to beg off attending, but the Captain had been insistent: the Rakosans wished to meet the engineer who had been able to destroy the missile headed for their planet. No one seemed to feel the need to mention to them that that self-same engineer had been the one to point the missile in their direction to begin with, albeit unintentionally. She might have been able to convince the EMH to get her off on medical grounds, but that would have meant spending at least the night in sickbay – not much of a trade up.

The reception was being held outdoors under the stars somewhere on that Eastern Continent where Dreadnought would have impacted if it hadn't been stopped. Rationally, B'Elanna knew that the Rakosans had chosen the location as a way to celebrate what had been saved. In her current mood, it was only a reminder of what could have been lost due to her own presumption and arrogance.

Fortunately, the open area of the reception was in the midst of an arboretum, and it was easy enough to fade back into the shadow of the trees, away from lights and bright voices. And it was back in those trees that she spotted Tom.

His attention was on the celebration, and he didn't notice her in the darkness. As her eyes adjusted to the shadows, she saw that particular look on his face – tight, shuttered; had she once thought of it as arrogant? It was the expression that was (almost) all she had known of him during their time together in the Maquis and that he had worn for most of their first year on _Voyager. _And the same expression that she had seen again a few days before in engineering.

_"__I'm the one who's been wrong. Wrong about a lot of things."_

She blinked away the memory, still staring at the pilot. _What the hell was going on with him? _As she watched, he sighed, straightened and, now sporting a social smile, headed back into the gathering.

_:Chakotay to Torres:_

Eyes trailing after Tom, she tapped the line open. "Torres here."

_:Would you mind joining me and the Captain? We are talking with First Minister Kellen, and he has an interesting proposal:_

B'Elanna closed her eyes, trying to determine if there could be a worse hell than an extended conversation with the leader of the world that she had almost destroyed. Then she opened her eyes and replied, "I'll come find you. Torres out." Wishing that she could summon a smile as readily as the helmsman, she made her way back into the reception.

Finding the Captain and Chakotay only took a minute. They were standing with the Rakosan minister, drinks in hand, talking animatedly. Janeway's fingers, the engineer noted, were resting lightly on the minister's arm. Shaking her head at what, from her perspective, was a bizarre tableau, B'Elanna approached the trio.

"Captain. Commander. First Minister," she acknowledged, giving herself a few points for remembering the Rakosan's title.

"Lieutenant," the Captain returned her greeting. "First Minister Kellen, allow me to introduce my chief engineer, B'Elanna Torres."

Pleasure was evident in the First Minister's expression. "Chief Engineer Torres, it is an honor to meet you. It is impossible to express in words how grateful my people are for your efforts to stop the missile."

Yep, hell of the worst sort.

The Captain and Chakotay both looked at her expectantly, and she stammered out, "Well I...that is to say...it wasn't really..." Janeway sent a subtle, low intensity death glare in her direction, and B'Elanna concluded with little grace, "Thank you, First Minister."

"We've been discussing with Kellen the possibility of a trade deal while we are here on Rakosa," the Captain continued with a smile but without letting up her pointed look at her engineer. "The Rakosans have some extensive ore deposits on the western continent near their capital. The First Minister has invited us to take a look at them." Janeway's eyebrow lifted slightly. "I was hoping you would be able to accompany me to the site tomorrow."

The Captain's tone left little doubt that, politely worded though it might be for the sake of the social convention, she was giving an order. B'Elanna's stomachs churned: her most fervent desire right then was to put as much distance as possible between herself and this damned planet as quickly as possible. The idea of visiting the Rakosan capital, sitting in on trade negotiations, and, frankly, taking advantage of these people's goodwill made her more than a little nauseated.

But, then, it really wasn't her choice, was it? "Of course, Captain. I'll arrange for Carey to cover for me in engineering."

Kellen nodded, appreciatively. "Will you be our guests tomorrow evening as well? It would be our pleasure to host both the captain and the engineer who saved our world."

_Oh, gods, no._

"We would be delighted," she heard the Captain respond before, as a small mercy, turning the conversation to other topics. B'Elanna stayed for a few minutes, nodding along without listening, until she was able to make her excuse that she needed to rearrange the engineering schedule and take her leave.

As she hastened away, she almost ran into Tom who, evidently, had been hovering nearby. He caught her eye and gave her a small, sympathetic smile and a flick of his fingers that might have been a salute. Then, the pilot turned to intercept another of their Rakosan hosts who was determinedly heading in their direction, allowing B'Elanna to make her escape.

Reaching the edge of the clearing, she turned back to send Tom a grateful look before calling for transport, but his attention was fully on the Rakosan diplomat, that polite, fixed smile again on his face. Strangely disappointed, she tapped her combadge and requested the beam out, her thoughts at least temporarily diverted from the trials of the coming day by her confusion regarding Tom Paris.

* * *

The mines of Rakosa were undoubtedly impressive. Duranium, tritanium and magnesite were all in abundance – three valuable finds given the beatings that _Voyager's _shuttles took on a regular basis. One of B'Elanna and Tuvok's first collaborations after she had been named chief engineer had been to upgrade the shuttles' defensive capabilities, adding phasers and even photon torpedos where possible and enhancing the shields, but the vessels were not designed for the challenges of the Delta Quadrant. As a result, patching up shuttlecraft hulls had become part of the regular engineering rotation.

Still, had it been the engineer's call, sitting down to negotiate for those materials with the representative of a planet to which they – well, she – had almost caused catastrophic damage would not have been in the cards. But it wasn't her call, and so B'Elanna spent the day saying the right things, nodding politely and trying not to wince every time a grateful Rakosan referred to her role in 'saving' their world. By the time the lavish evening meal that Kellin insisted on sharing with his guests was over, her nerves were beyond frayed.

"Coffee?" The Captain's voice came from across the room. They had each been given a room of an adjoining suite with a well-appointed sitting area in between. Upon returning to the suite after the dinner's conclusion, B'Elanna had taken the Captain's removal of her uniform jacket to mean that they were now off-duty. The engineer had curled up gratefully onto a couch-like piece of furniture, pulling out a PADD with Carey's department summary for the day. At Janeway's question, she looked up with interest. "Well, not coffee," the Captain amended crossing the room bearing two mugs, "but it beats Neelix's substitutes."

Relaxing a bit, B'Elanna grinned and accepted one of the steaming cups. Taking a sip, she sighed deeply. "I needed this."

Sitting down on another chair, the Captain looked at her engineer, not without concern. "I know today had to be hard on you, B'Elanna."

She shrugged that off, not wanting the sympathy. "There's more than a bit of justice to it."

Janeway didn't dispute that, but added, "Still, I would have spared you all this, if we didn't need those supplies so damn badly."

B'Elanna cocked her head, considering that. It was rare for Janeway to admit ambivalence concerning her decisions. "Badly enough to take advantage of the gratitude of a people who don't seem to understand that they should still be cursing us?" she ventured.

"Just that badly," Janeway acknowledged without pleasure.

The engineer took another sip of the beverage in her hand. "I'm not sure how you do it." It was a statement of fact, without rancor or judgment.

"One does what one needs to do," the Captain returned just as evenly. "And you didn't do so badly with the diplomacy and negotiations yourself, all things considered." At which B'Elanna snorted. Mouth twitching to a small grin in response, Janeway continued, "Ever consider a command track?"

B'Elanna laughed outright. "I'm not sure that Starfleet could have survived that."

The Captain laughed as well, but then added, "In all seriousness, though, B'Elanna, I've been impressed by how well you've been able to fit into the Starfleet system over these last couple of years. I'll admit you've surpassed my expectations – and become a fine officer."

Never having learned to take a compliment in stride, the engineer turned her eyes and her attention to her drink, murmuring some thanks. But the Captain's words played back through her head along with the echo of other words, so similar, from a few days prior -

"_You know, I've been surprised at how well you've been able to fit in here. A little envious too."  
_"_Tom, what's been going on with you lately?"  
"Going on? How?"_

He had blown off her concern, retreating back behind that damned mask of his. Even with everything that had happened since, that conversation continued to gnaw at her.

"B'Elanna?" Janeway called quietly, pulling her away from the memory. "Penny for your thoughts?" And, at B'Elanna's confused look, she continued with a smile, "Something I picked up from Mr. Paris. You looked like you were a galaxy away."

B'Elanna hesitated, but, with that opening, she had to at least try. "I was actually thinking about something Tom said the other day." She looked up at the other woman squarely. "Captain, have you noticed that he's been behaving oddly lately?"

And because she was looking directly at her, B'Elanna noticed the slight twitch and the almost imperceptible change in the Captain's expression. The change in her tone, however, was much more marked: "I know you and Tom are friends, B'Elanna, but I'm really not at liberty to discuss the personal matters of other members of the crew."

Which was fair enough, but something in that tone and that expression struck B'Elanna as curious. "I just thought…" she began.

"B'Elanna," the Captain stopped her, touching the engineer's hand with her own, "I appreciate your concern. As does, I'm sure, Mr. Paris." Then, the Captain stood, stretching. "And now, I think I'll try to get some sleep before another full day of negotiations tomorrow. I'm sure you'll want to do the same."

Another barely masked order, and B'Elanna responded without thinking, "Yes, ma'am," before the Captain bid her goodnight and retreated into her own room.

Looking after her, B'Elanna sighed in frustration at yet another foreshortened conversation: sometimes the Captain and the helmsman were more alike than either likely realized.

She knew she should probably follow the Captain's not-quite-advice and head to bed, but she first turned back to the engineering report in her hand, seeking refuge in the quotidian problems of _Voyager's_ engines – problems that she both understood and knew how to fix.


	4. Interlude

_**Interlude  
**_It was Neelix who finally tracked her down. He shuffled in through the rocket ship's hatch, frowning a bit at the effect of the monochromatic environment on his usually colorful attire and then waving cheerfully as he spotted her.

From her seat on the steps of the bridge, she gave him a small smile in greeting but eyed the covered tray he was carrying with more than a little well-founded apprehension. "I didn't realize that the galley had a delivery service these days." _Except to the brig. _But, even as practiced as she was at misdirecting her anger, she wasn't about to take this one out on Neelix.

The Talaxian just chuckled, setting the tray down on the rocket ship's console. "Well, I hadn't seen you in the mess hall in a few days, and I have a dish I was hoping you might be able to sample for me."

"Really?" She couldn't quite keep the trepidation out of her voice.

"A little something I've been working on for Tom as a sort of welcome back present," he continued, unruffled. "I thought you might give it a trial run." And, he removed the cover with the smallest hint of a flourish.

What was revealed was Talaxian-ized and Delta Quadrant-modified but still unmistakable.

"Neelix! A pizza!" Her grin was spontaneous but felt oddly unfamiliar from disuse. "Tom will be..." she trailed off, momentarily speechless as the full impact of the cook's offering sunk in. "He'll be touched, Neelix."

"Try some?"

Unable to refuse, B'Elanna nodded, and, cutting a piece, he handed it to her before sitting down next to her. "How is it?" he asked anxiously as she took a bite.

"Mmmm..." she murmured inarticulately through a mouthful of 'cheese', hoping the cook would accept that as a compliment. If Tom's carefully crafted replications hadn't been able to convince her of the virtues of the dish, then Neelix's attempt really didn't stand a chance. In this case, however, it was most definitely the thought that counted.

And it was that thought that pushed her to finally ask, "How is he?" She hadn't asked the others – not Ayala or his fellow security officers who were trading off shifts in the brig and certainly not the Doctor after his brief visit. Not even Harry. She had feared what she might hear or, perhaps even more, her inability to control her reaction to it. But, Neelix was...Neelix.

She watched him weigh the question, considering his response. Finally, he settled on, "He misses you," his eyes full of the hard-won wisdom that his clownish appearance often belied.

B'Elanna rubbed at her own eyes with her fingertips and felt the unfamiliar moisture there. _Kahless_, tears? She couldn't even remember when she had last cried.

Neelix nudged at her arm with his elbow, interrupting her brooding. "What are you doing in here, B'Elanna? It's not like you to hide." She looked at him skeptically, knowing him to be shrewder than that. "Well, not to hide like this," the cook amended.

She shrugged. "I've been thinking. Sorting through memories. Thinking some more."

"Come to any conclusions?"

"Mostly just more questions." She looked over at the Talaxian, matching his scrutinizing look. "Do you think he was wrong?"

"Tom?"

She nodded.

Again, Neelix weighed his response. "I think he chose to do what he decided was right, to follow his conscience. I can't fault him, or any man, for that."

"Do you think the Captain was wrong then?"

"I think she's the captain. She did what she thought she had to do." The Talaxian paused, searching her expression. "But I don't expect that you agree with me about that."

"No," she acknowledged, surprised by her own calm. And then added, knowing it to be the truth, "But Tom would."


	5. III

**III.  
**In the end, he had worn her down. Again. There was nothing quite like Tom Paris for tenacity and sheer whining persistence when he wanted something and, in this case, he wanted her out of her quarters. Anywhere out of her quarters. Just for an hour, he said.

'Expeller of Demons' hadn't been enough to keep the pilot away, but he had been quite vocal about his dislike for the scent even as he had planted himself on her sofa every moment that he was off-duty over the last few days. His overall messaging was clear: he wasn't going anywhere. She was surprised to discover that she didn't really want him to.

But the scent still irked him, and he had begun to tempt, bribe, cajole, guilt or otherwise entice her to leave the now distinctly smoky confines of her room. He had offered Sandrines, Fiji, Tahiti... To his credit, he hadn't even suggested skiing. Finally, to shut him up and more than half-expecting him to say no, she had suggested the _bat'leth_ training program that they had written together months before.

He hesitated, not wanting to ask the question, and then she did feel more than a little guilty for the various hells she had put him through in the last few weeks. "We'll leave the safeties on," she offered, and he nodded.

As soon as she walked out into the corridor, she knew that he had a point about the incense. She considered asking the computer to recycle the air in her quarters while they were gone. She wondered if she could manage to make it look like an accident.

Entering the holodeck, Tom called up their _bat'leth_ program, the result of a series of bets that he had won a year or so before. Its existence was another testament to the pilot's creativity and pure stubbornness once he decided he wanted something. They had set the program in the No'Mat caves – Tom claiming at the time to have a particular fondness for sharing subterranean spaces with her. The stone walls were lit by torches and had been adorned with banners representing each of the major houses of the Klingon Empire. B'Elanna had rolled her eyes at the pageantry and pointed out the inaccuracy of such decorations, but Tom had kept them in the name of artistic license.

It had been a while since they last ran the program together – actually it had been a while since they had run any program together. During the months when B'Elanna had been using holoprograms with the safeties off, she had avoided the holodeck while in company whenever possible and certainly stayed away from any and all training simulations with Tom. Since her recovery, most of their time together had been spent catching up on other things in the comfort of one or the other's quarters.

They started with the program on the easiest setting, mutually deciding that a warm up wouldn't be a bad idea after the last few days of relative inactivity. Tom called for the program to begin, and they stood back to back, _bat'leths_ in hand, awaiting their opponents. B'Elanna found herself intensely aware of the warmth of Tom's body behind her, and, without effort, she could hear the controlled pace of his breathing. In response to his close presence, she felt her own breath slow, felt muscles that had been tense for days relax, even as she awaited the bout to come.

_Damn, you've got it bad, Torres_. A smile flitted across her face. Then, their holographic adversaries appeared, and her attention focused on her opponent's movements and the weapon in her own hands.

The match was short-lived, with both B'Elanna and Tom making quick work of their opposition. She turned to grin at Tom, surprised at how good she felt. Neither the dark impulses of a few months before nor her more ingrained struggles with her Klingon heritage threatened to surface; she couldn't remember ever feeling this at ease while sparring.

"Computer, increase difficulty to Level 4," she instructed, before catching Tom's look. "We'll leave the safeties on," she assured, "just a little more of a..."

:_Unable to complete request: _the computer interrupted.

She blinked and stood in shocked stillness for a beat.

It was long enough for Tom to reach her side, placing a calming hand on her arm. "Computer," he called, holding her eyes, "increase difficulty to Level 4. Authorization Paris-delta-3."

They waited, both already knowing what to expect.

:_Unable to complete request. Authorization has been denied_:

"_QI'yaH!_"

Her _bat'leth_ dissolved harmlessly as it arced through the air and, with a snarl, she swung a fist at the nearest wall. But Tom was there, catching her wrist and stepping between her and the stone. "B'Elanna..." his voice held a quiet warning; he knew as well as she did where the real walls of the holodeck, the hard matter for which the safeties could not compensate, were hidden.

Glaring, she snatched her wrist from him, but she crossed her arms and walked away from the wall.

"Who the hell does she think she is?"

"You don't know it was the Captain. It could have been the Doc. Or Chakotay."

She paused her restless movement long enough to raise an incredulous eyebrow. He sighed, conceding the point.

"She does not fucking own me. She does not get to run my life." Her lungs were tight, and her breathing strained.

He didn't respond, just watched as she prowled back and forth – like a caged animal, she knew. And a caged animal is exactly what she felt like at that moment. Trapped, powerless, her most basic choices stripped away.

Slowly, her frustration cooled back down to a simmer. She turned back to Tom who still stood where she had left him, nothing but concern showing on his face.

"I'm sorry."

He covered the short distance between them in a couple of strides, his hands coming lightly to her arms, his eyes seeking hers, "Hey – you have _nothing _to be sorry for."

Despite herself, she relaxed into his grip, into the surety of his gaze.

"It was my conscience, my choice, my life – how dare she violate that?" Her voice was soft now, her question honest.

He hesitated, and something unreadable passed across his face.

"What is it?" she asked.

He chewed at his lower lip before making a decision and plunging forward: "I may very well regret asking this, but why is it so much easier for you to forgive me than her?"

It wasn't like she hadn't asked herself the same thing over the last week. "Maybe because you're consistent."

"I thought that was Harry?" he quipped.

She smiled despite herself at his questionably timed attempt at humor, remembering why she loved him - or maybe why one had to love Tom Paris if one were not going to pitch him out the nearest airlock – but she refused to be deflected from her line of thought: "Remember that thing with the Mari?"

He paled, and she recalled Harry's all too vivid description of Tom's desperation while she was imprisoned, awaiting an "anagrammatic purge" on the Mari home world. She swallowed and then rushed on: "Janeway was perfectly willing to leave me to the wolves that time, in the name of following the rules. But, this time," she continued bitterly, "she decided that I was too important to lose and broke the rules, ones that I happened to believe in." She found his eyes. "You, on the other hand..."

"...chose you both times and to hell with any rules," he finished, with evident satisfaction. Then, "But, B'Elanna, she's the captain."

That only added fuel to her building fury. "Exactly. She's the Captain. Sometimes I feel like she plays us like pawns. Not just me – you, Harry, Chakotay, Seven – all of us.'" She stood up and began to pace, one hand on her hip, the other gesticulating. "Do you know what she said to me to explain her actions?"

He shook his head, waiting.

"'You're my crewman. I did what I thought best.'"

An inexplicable smile threatened at the corners of the pilot's mouth. At a look that was more threatening than quizzical, he confessed, "Your Janeway impression isn't half bad."

"You _can't_ think this is funny."

He shrugged. "Like I said, B'Elanna: she's the captain. It's her job."

She wanted to scream with frustration. "How can you just be okay with that?"

Tom turned away, pressing laced fingers against the back of his head and taking a step or two towards the stone walls of the cave. Then, he turned again, and finding a seat on a convenient boulder, sat down and offered the surface next to him. Still edgy, but wanting to hear him out, she perched on the edge of the rock beside him.

"I grew up a 'Fleet brat. My father was a captain and then an admiral. I knew half of the Starfleet brass before I was ten years old."

She nodded, trying to be patient, knowing she owed him at least that. Still, "And?" she prompted.

He scratched at his head, clearly attempting to put words to what was, to him, second nature. "And they were good people. Well, not all of them, but mostly. I saw them at family parties, as fathers and mothers, as my parents' friends and confidants – hell, I have a vice-admiral as a godmother."

A memory of her parents' home on Kessik IV intruded – isolated, bereft of any such parties full of laughter and friends. And infinitely more so after her father left. She knew that it was partially envy that made her voice sharp as she demanded, "What's your point, Tom?"

He looked up at her sharpness, considering it, but then continued on. "Those same captains and admirals were responsible for dozens, maybe hundreds, of decisions like the one the Captain made for you. Command decisions." He searched her eyes for some understanding. "None of it was personal, B'Elanna. None of it was about who they were as people. It was about doing what they deemed best for the good of the ship; it was their job."

She tried to wrap her head around that, to understand what he was trying to tell her. But some visceral part of her resisted.

Finally, she snorted softly, mirthlessly laughing at herself. "My mother used to say that I was a _lotlhmoq_."

"A what?"

"A _lotlhmoq_. It's a bird on Qo'nos. It lives on fish from the ocean but can't swim; it can't stay away from the water, but it doesn't belong there either." She looked up at him. "It's what she called me when I told her I was leaving for the Academy."

His mouth pressed into a thin line, his gaze again telegraphing his concern. "I thought that with _Voyager _you had finally found a place where you did belong."

"So did I, for a while."

"What she's done – none of it's personal, B'Elanna," he repeated.

She growled an obscenity in response, standing and beginning again to pace a tight path.

''It can't be easy for her either. Starfleet brass are known for aging before their time." Then, in that damned chameleon-like fashion, his tone shifted: "One of many reasons that I stay far away from command."

Her brows shot up, and she stopped in front of him, pointedly ticking off three fingers.

Tom just grinned. "Well, Harry's always bucking for a promotion. I'm sure he'll pass me up soon enough."

He was trying to deflect again, to lighten the mood. Looking at him, though, his words and memories still unsettled in her mind, she had a sudden realization.

"But you could do it." She tilted her head to the side, both bemused and a little frightened that she could suddenly see him as Admiral Paris's son, groomed from the cradle for command.

"Yeah, I could," he admitted, getting up to wrap his arms around her. "But, I'm glad that I don't need to."

"Are you?" she countered, trying to catch his eyes and wondering at his sudden attempts to distract her.

"I am," he assured into her ear before beginning to trace lingering kisses across her jaw. "I am quite content," the kisses turned into nibbles down her throat, "to be the dashing helmsman," which then traveled across her collarbone, "who sweeps the unsuspecting chief engineer off her feet," and he performed exactly that maneuver, landing them both on the packed dirt with a thud and a snort of laughter.

Giving in to him yet again (how could she not?), B'Elanna prudently called for the computer to secure the holodeck doors before giving up all further thought, prudent or otherwise, and surrendering to Tom's very insistent and very thorough attentions.


	6. IV

**IV.  
**"You're off duty for the rest of the day aren't you?"

Tom had been distracted by his own thoughts as their conversation on the rocket ship ended, but now, as they exited the holodeck for the corridor, she felt the intensity of his focus, even as his body language remained determinedly relaxed.

"I'm covering the night shift for Vorik, but I'm off until then."

"Good." He nodded, stopping at an intersection, turning to face her and laying his hands casually on her shoulders.

"Do you need help with...anything?" She knew his answer as much as she knew how important it was that she ask the question.

Tom shook his head. "Maybe next time." Then, "And you'll need some rest if you've got the graveyard shift." His hands on her arms were light, but his eyes had grown even more intense. "Good rest. In your quarters." _Away from the bridge and engineering. _"Will you?"

They both knew that it was an unstated request for a promise.

She nodded.

* * *

Monea hung like a living gem outside the viewport of her room, its ocean a deep, startlingly clear blue. She stopped herself short of drawing the obvious comparison.

Upon entering her quarters, she had tossed aside her uniform jacket and kicked off her boots; after all, she was supposed to be resting. Mostly, however, she knew the absence of her uniform would serve as a physical barrier to her sprinting out of her quarters for engineering or the bridge. Tom seldom asked for promises; she was determined to keep this one.

They hadn't said good-bye. He was just heading back on duty, and she was returning to her quarters for some sleep before her late shift, right? A quick squeeze of her shoulders, a last look, and he'd turned in what could have been the direction of the bridge.

Arms crossed tightly, she continued her vigil, staring out the viewport until she sighted the unmistakable lines of the _Flyer, _streaking out from _Voyager_ toward the ocean planet.

"_Qapla'_, Tom," she murmured.

She followed the shuttle's flight as long as she could. A minute after it disappeared into the planet's atmosphere, she felt the subtle shift in the vibrations that were _Voyager's _heartbeat, a shift that only her chief engineer – or her pilot_ –_ would notice. A shift that meant a major system was coming online.

The weapons system.

_She wouldn't._

Except she would, and B'Elanna knew it.

The doors to her quarters were open, and her bare feet touched the carpet of the corridor floor.

Bare feet. No uniform. Her promise.

But surely he hadn't expected Janeway to fire on him?

Of course he had. Thomas Eugene Paris, admiral's son, had known exactly what to expect. And had wanted B'Elanna nowhere near it. Had made sure she would be nowhere near it.

_Damn him._

With a growl of frustration, she retreated back into her quarters, letting the doors slide shut, indiscriminately cursing all children of the Starfleet admiralty.

_Okay, think Torres. Fix this._

Tools at her disposal: a personal computer terminal and a chief engineer's access codes. What she didn't have: time.

Knowing that she might already be too late, that Janeway could fire at any time, B'Elanna sat down at her terminal and began to hack into the ship's tactical system, fuming at the need to cover her tracks as she went – her concession to that damnable promise. A minute and then another ticked by as she worked furiously through inessential systems towards her goal.

What the hell was Janeway waiting for?

Two more minutes and she was deep enough in to find the photon torpedo, modified and ready to launch. Just a minute more and she could render it inactive with no one the wiser to her involvement.

Then, she felt the nearly imperceptible but unmistakable shudder that accompanied weapons fire. Her stomachs lurched and her breath stopped. Inexorably, knowing that she would see nothing, she stood up and swung back around to the viewport and to the waters of Monea.

_She clambered over the wet rocks, sure-footed as always, finding one perch and then another. The Sea of Gatan stretched in front of her and beneath her, the salty waves breaking against the rocks and then swirling into whirlpools between them. Turning so that the wind whipped her long, loose hair back from her face, she watched as birds swooped down into the water, reemerging with fish in their beaks but never settling on the waves._

_On the rocks beneath her, a colony of pipia clawed their way over the wet surfaces, each seeking some purchase before the next wash of the tide. With childish fascination, she inched down to see the crab-like creatures better, reaching out to try to catch one – but her feet slipped on the slick, moss-covered stones and she slid, screaming into the waters below._

_The sea closed over her head and _s_he was drowning. Liquid filled her lungs, leaving no room for air._

Her terminal beeped, indicating an incoming message. She turned back to the computer out of force of habit, opening the brief missive.

_B, He's okay. I'm sorry. -HK_

As the computer crashed against the wall, she slumped down onto a chair, relief barely tempering the bitter shock of betrayal.


	7. Postlude

_**Postlude  
**_"Catching up on some engineering reports?"

B'Elanna looked up sharply, wondering how she had missed the Captain's approach. Annoyed, she tightened her expression, erasing the last traces of the smile that she had allowed herself in what had been the solitude of the deserted mess hall; after Neelix's visit, she had begun to venture back out to the public areas of the ship but only in the later hours of the night or early morning. Surreptitiously, she thumbed off the PADD in her hand.

"Mmm hmm..." It was only a partial lie.

"Mind if I join you?" Janeway indicated the now cold mug of coffee on the table in front of them and her own still steaming cup.

When had that become an odd request? The two of them had once shared late night coffee and conversation in the mess hall regularly, the Captain gently, subtly mentoring her young engineer through the challenges of her new position. Had the last time been their conversation following B'Elanna's escape from the Pralor vessel? For weeks after that, her nights had been taken up by the warp ten shuttle project with Harry and Tom – and then the Captain had been marooned on "New Earth". _And, between those, Janeway had sent Tom on his little suicidal espionage mission... _One way or another, they had fallen out of the habit.

The Captain was still standing, and B'Elanna realized that she hadn't answered the question. Saying 'no' likely wasn't a real option, but with each passing second it became harder to say 'yes'.

"I was going to turn in before too long," she tried at last.

"Just for a few minutes then," Janeway assured, sitting and sipping at her coffee, her intent eyes prohibiting her engineer from returning to her reading. _Well, that's what you get for being a cowardly petaQ,_ B'Elanna chided herself.

The seconds drew on again in marked silence. Despite the distinct feeling that she was giving away some advantage by doing so, B'Elanna finally asked impatiently, "Is there something I can help you with, Captain?"

The Captain's eyes narrowed a touch, and B'Elanna had a flash of fellow feeling for a fish caught on a hook. "I thought it might be a good idea for the two of us to clear the air about a few things before tomorrow."

B'Elanna felt her jaw tighten. "Just which 'things' were you thinking of, Captain?" Somewhere, some part of her that had actually spent the last four years becoming a good officer warned that they were in a public area, abandoned though it might be, and that her tone was more than bordering on insubordinate.

Janeway seemed unfazed, however, no doubt for reasons of her own. "I can only assume that you don't agree with my recent decisions regarding Mr. Paris."

_Ensign _Paris.

"That's putting it mildly." The cautioning voice turned to a klaxon that went unheeded as her free hand balled into a fist against her thigh.

"I couldn't ignore what he did." Always so self-assured, undoubting. Her throat tightened against the suddenly too heavy air.

"I wouldn't expect you to." Her teeth ground together, and muscles tensed across her shoulders and back.

"He stole a shuttlecraft, disobeyed a direct order and broke the Prime Directive."

"I know all of that." She could hear her own voice, coiled and strained.

"Under the circumstances, loss of rank..."

And then the dam broke: "It's not about the bloody pip!"

Neither of them could pretend that she had just done anything less than shout at her commanding officer.

Her commanding officer who still sat across from her, unmoving, unyielding, giving nothing away.

B'Elanna felt a trickle of warmth on her palm and realized that the nails of her clenched fist had punctured the skin.

She closed her eyes.

"It's not about the demotion," she repeated, reopening her eyes and defiantly meeting that inscrutable grey gaze. "Or about the brig time, excessive as that might have been."

Janeway let that go. "Then what?"

"You shot at him, Captain."

"Not to hit him."

"Harry didn't know that. He was on the bridge, watching, _helping_, while he thought you were trying to shoot down his best friend." _And I sat in my quarters, thinking the same..._

"Ensign Kim was doing his job as an officer of this ship. He had all the information he needed."

"Even you can't think that makes it right."

"Not right, B'Elanna: necessary."

The air around her constricted yet further.

_The same mess hall, the same chair, a cup of coffee, freshly poured, in her hands. Hands that had so recently created a life – and ended it.  
_"_I don't know what to say."  
The Captain's voice, soft with understanding: "As far as I'm concerned, you did what you thought was necessary to ensure the safety of this crew." And then, "It must have been difficult."  
"Difficult?"  
"To destroy what you created."  
__Her hands clenched around her cup. __"__It was necessary." _

For all her effort to keep her face impassive, she knew that Janeway would see that her shot had hit home.

"Fine. Call it necessary. That doesn't mean I have to agree with you."

"No, it doesn't," the Captain conceded, leaning an elbow on the back of her chair and propping her head against her hand. "But the real question is – has always been – can you accept it without agreeing with it? Can you continue to serve under my command?"

More memories and more words -

_"__Who is she to be making these decisions for all of us?"  
"__She's the Captain."_

_"__The problem? The problem was a system that didn't give anyone a chance to breathe."  
"We work under that same system on this ship."  
"Then I guess maybe this is just a bad idea."_

_"__So what would you have had me say, B'Elanna?"  
"__How about telling her 'no'?"_

Every atom in her body screamed it, but the word choked in her throat. Why was it so damned difficult to breathe?

B'Elanna looked up and away, to the bulkheads of the ship that she had come to think of as home. _Fifteen decks. Computers augmented with bio-neural circuitry. Top cruising speed, warp nine point nine seven five._

She had fled from her mother's home to the Academy and then from the Academy to the edges of space. This time, she had nowhere to run.

"I don't really have much choice, do I?" And then it was time to end this. "I can do the job, Captain." _And losing me is 'unacceptable', remember?_

She glanced back at Janeway and caught the trailing edge of...something as it flashed across her expression: some look of loss, or simple weariness. B'Elanna dropped her eyes, biting at her lower lip, but she let her statement stand without amendment.

"Very well then, Lieutenant. I believe you have a shift on the bridge tomorrow morning. You might want to get some rest."

She bit back an adolescent retort, staring out at the star trails now, giving the slight nod required to win her release. She heard the sigh, not quite stifled, and then she was alone again.

B'Elanna turned her attention back to the PADD still in her hand, thumbing it back on and looking down at the file that she had been reading when Janeway arrived. The smile drifted back onto her face. The report was an aberration, having been addressed only to security officers and the command team, that had somehow made its way into her daily queue of engineering reading. Signed off by the chief of security, it gave the exact time of release for the only current occupant of _Voyager's_ brig, early the following morning.

Or a little later this morning actually. A quick calculation negated the possibility of a visit before her shift started, but a well-timed comm should be possible. Her smile twitched into a satisfied grin: there were more ways to stake a claim than just a bite on the cheek.

The stars outside the mess hall continued to trail by with those particular patterns created by starships traveling at faster than light speeds. All those stars, all that open space, and she had nowhere left to run.


End file.
